


Maybe a Balm or a Touch

by allyndra



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, implied sexual relationship amongst all band members
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-17
Updated: 2009-03-17
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyndra/pseuds/allyndra
Summary: Bob's hurting, and My Chemical Romance is a band that takes care of each other.





	Maybe a Balm or a Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on LJ in March 2009, added on AO3 in September 2018. 
> 
> Written for LJ user miniminkie.

Bob tried to be surreptitious about rubbing his wrists, because his bandmates were really a ridiculous bunch of mother hens for a group of rock stars. He pressed the fingers of his right hand along his left wrist, keeping his hands low, so that the arm of the sofa hid them. His eyes flickered around the room, checking that everyone was busily employed with something other than worrying about Bob. Mikey and Gerard were either writing lyrics or arguing over a game of hangman, Bob couldn't tell which. Ray was switching back and forth between three guitars, playing a quick run of chords on each. And Frank …

Frank was suddenly leaning over the back of the sofa, infringing on Bob's personal space from behind. Frank had never used to be able to sneak up on him before. It seemed wrong, that now that he was heavier, he'd suddenly learned to move more quietly. Bob remembered winters spent in the snow when he was a kid and wondered if it was like sledding. An empty toboggan rattled and lurched as it moved, but weigh one down, and it would run fast and silent. 

He wasn't going to ask Frank, though. At least, not when Frank was looking at him with that accusing expression. 

Bob released his wrist and held up his right hand, fingers spread out in a stopping gesture. "I'm not even at my drum kit," he said quietly. No sense getting everyone else in on today's fresh new intervention. "I'm sitting here nice and quiet."

Frank was leaning so far over the sofa-back that Bob knew he had to be on his tiptoes. He glared down at Bob, unappeased. "You're sitting here nice and quiet for now," Frank said. "But you were dicking around on your drums for four hours." He stood up with a soft thump as his heels hit the ground, and came around the end of the sofa to stand in front of Bob. He held out a hand and said, "C'mon." 

When Bob didn't move fast enough, Frank snapped his fingers. Everybody's heads jerked up at the sound, because Frank could snap like he was born to be a beat poet, loud, sharp, and precise. Bob had never been able to snap that way even before his wrists had gone to hell. Bob reached up and let Frank grab his forearm and pull him up. He made a baffled face at Gerard, who was watching them now with a look of distracted concern, and followed Frank out of the room. 

Frank led him into the bathroom and rummaged in the cupboard for Bob's pain pills. When he found them, he hopped up to sit on the counter and gave Bob a long, measuring look. "Here," he said, opening the medicine bottle and shaking a tiny pill out onto his palm. He held it out to Bob. "Take this."

"Frank," Bob sighed.

"Are you in pain?" Frank asked archly. When Bob didn't answer, he nodded knowingly. "Then take the fucking pill. Jesus."

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Bob took the fucking pill. He nudged Frank over with his shoulder so he could reach the sink, and scooped water into his mouth. He looked up, mouth and beard wet, and said, "Happy now?"

Frank smiled at him. Bob didn't know how someone who was so fucking annoying so much of the time could smile like that, like there was nothing but sunshine inside him. "Awww," Frank said. "You wanna make me happy. That's so sweet." He held out his hand and snapped his fingers again. "Gimme your wrist."

Bob rolled his eyes, but he held out his left wrist and let Frank take hold of it. Frank took it gently, cupping it in his hands. Strong, tattooed fingers curled around Bob's hand and wrist, stroking over his scars with calloused fingertips. Frank spread his legs and tugged until Bob was standing between them, held captive by the fragile cage of Frank's touch and the walls of his knees. 

Frank rubbed Bob's wrist, firm on the knots of sore muscle and so careful over the scars. Bob shivered, but Frank was concentrating all of his attention on his wrist massage, and didn't seem to notice. After a moment, Frank spoke, his head bent low over his task so that Bob felt his breath on his skin. 

"We worry about you, you know."

"I _know_ ," Bob said feelingly. "But, dude. I'm fine. It's been months, and I'm doing awesome. I'll be good as new in no time." He thought about adding a joke, something about trading him in for a new model if he broke down again, but last time he'd said something like that, the whole band had turned on him with fierce faces and angry denial. So he just shut his mouth and watched Frank's inked fingers moving over his own pale flesh.

"You better be," Frank said. He lifted his chin, and there was something vulnerable about his defiance, like a little boy demanding that ‘fair' was the most important thing in the world. He pulled Bob closer, letting go of his wrist with one hand to hook a finger through one of Bob's belt loops. "You need to take better care of yourself." Frank's eyes were intent on Bob's face now, and in the harsh bathroom light, they looked almost golden. Bob could see himself in the mirror over Frank's shoulder, and his own eyes hadn't turned any cool colors. He would have felt kind of ripped off, but he was distracted by Frank lifting Bob's wrist to his mouth and kissing it. 

"I don‘t have to take care of myself," Bob said. He tried to say it lightly, but his voice was rough. He swallowed twice to try and clear it. "I've got you guys to take care of me."

"You do," Frank said simply. Then he grinned, sharp and teasing. "You gonna let me take care of you?" He let go of Bob's belt loop and curved his hand around Bob's hip, squeezing meaningfully.

"Could I stop you?" Bob asked, his mouth twitching. This was his favorite thing about being in this band. They all loved each other, hard and real, and it didn't matter how. Quiet, friendly affection or hot intensity, it could be whatever they needed. Bob decided to just let Frank decide what he needed. For now.

"You don't want to stop me, Bob," Frank promised. He ducked his head and kissed Bob's wrist once more, then released it and slid both hands along Bob's waistband. When he leaned up, Bob was ready to meet him halfway, bending just enough to reach Frank's mouth. 

Kissing Frank was always a surprise. Bob expected him to be loud and careless, demanding attention the way he did in so many other parts of his life. But Frank's mouth was steady and firm. Not controlling, but controlled, like he knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it from you. Bob always forgot how much he liked it, how easy it was to settle into Frank's kisses and Frank's touch like he belonged there.

He kind of missed the lip ring, though. 

Frank's mouth was warm. It probably tasted like Red Bull and cigarettes, but Bob couldn't tell because his own did, too. He sank into it, drawn closer by Frank's lips, his tongue, his hands fumbling at Bob's zipper. Bob rocked off balance and grabbed Frank's shoulders to steady himself, ignoring the way Frank's mouth curved against his, grinning, slick and happy.

Frank pulled Bob's cock out and then let go. When Bob drew back to protest, he saw that Frank was working on his own pants, popping open the buttons and shoving down his underwear. Bob reached down to help, but Frank leveled a warning look at him. "I don't think you want to piss me off right now, Bryar," he said, wrapping hands around Bob's cock again and tugging. 

Bob laughed. "I don't think I want to know exactly what that threat meant," he said. "Too many ways to take ‘pissed off' when everybody's dicks are hanging out." He let Frank pull him forward, arranging him so that he was leaning forward at enough of an angle the Frank could line up their cocks and hold them together. 

Frank laughed, and his face was all sunshine again. Bright, like he might glow if he got any happier. Bob didn't know if he could take that, or if he'd burn up like one of the vampires on Buffy. He tipped his head and kissed Frank so that he didn't have to find out, taking the laugh and the smile and whatever else Frank could give him. 

Frank made a moaning noise high in his throat and started jerking their cocks together, a slow, steady rhythm with just enough pressure and speed that it was more than nice. It was hot, Frank's cock hard against his, Frank's hand's strong around them both. There was a tension coiling low in Bob's gut, tighter and hotter with every stroke, and soon he was adding to it, thrusting his hips to meet Frank's strokes. 

Bob didn't know if Frank was talking or grunting, but it sounded like, "Yeah, yeah," over and over again, between increasingly sloppy kisses. Frank strained up toward Bob, digging his heels into the cabinets so that he could lift his ass up off the counter. Bob wrapped his arms tight around Frank's shoulders and helped to hold him up. He let his head fall back as Frank sped his hand, staring up at the fluorescent bathroom light until buzzing white was all he could see. Frank mouthed a wet kiss against his collarbone, and Bob came, a rush of pleasure pouring through him and out of him.

"Yeah," Frank said, and this time it was definitely a word. He stilled his hand and fucked his cock up into it, against Bob's sensitive cock. Bob bowed his head and watched as Frank came all over his own hand and Bob's cock. 

They stood there like that for a while, breathing hard and leaning against each other. When Bob pulled away, he groaned. Shit. The weird angle he'd been standing at, leaning his weight forward onto Frank, was hell on his knees. "What the fuck?" he said, bending and straightening his legs with a grimace. "This is how you take care of me?"

Frank raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't hearing any complaints a minute ago," he said. 

"Yeah, well a minute ago, my mouth was otherwise engaged." Bob smirked. He eased his cock back into his underwear and zipped up his jeans.

Frank hopped down from the counter and leaned over the sink to wash his hands, his cock still hanging out of his pants and his hair mussed. He looked at Bob in the mirror and smiled. "So next time you're whining, one of us will just kiss you till you shut up," he said briskly. "Sounds like a plan." He dried off his hands. "But next time you act like an asshole about your wrists, don't expect to get off this easily." 

Bob laughed. "Well, as long as I get off," he said. Then he dodged as Frank threw a towel at his head. Ducking out of the bathroom and slamming the door in Frank‘s face, Bob darted down the hallway. His wrists were feeling a lot better, and he had a rhythm in his head he wanted to try out.


End file.
